Love is
by truglasgowgal
Summary: There are two sides to every story: this is hers. She's five, and doesn't quite realize the true impact of her words on him. She's seventeen, and suddenly she understands exactly what love is.


Hey there!  
This came to me at the start/mid of last week and I started to write it down when I was struck with its counterpart, which was the main reason for the delay in posting because I simply could not find the words to describe two ages from the other point of view. I eventually did, and this is the end result.  
I hope you enjoy...

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**Title:** Love Is…  
**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters  
**A/N:** This is a companion piece to _**'**Pretending Was…'_ and for maximum 'impact' or story potential, or what-have-you you're probably best reading them both as some things are stretched into that little bit more detail or whatever in one over the other; though the general gist is present in each.  
The sequel (of sorts) is also now up, called _Through Mist & Elegance._  
**A/N/N:** Each part should be read as 'Love is…' just to clear up some of the odd sentence beginnings or whatnot. It should read correctly if you insert the start line directly before it, even if it leads on from the sentence/part right before.  
**Summary:** There are two sides to every story: this is hers.  
She's five, and doesn't quite realize the true impact of her words on him. She seventeen, and suddenly she understands exactly what love is. It's telling a boy on your first day of Kindergarten that you like his scarf, and watching him wear it every day for the next twelve years.

-CB-

Love is a series of moments that they've shared; when they found each other in their ever-entangling lives, and marked a sequence of memories that would eventually lead them to this point.

It's taken her the better part of twelve years, and now she's there she's never letting it go; and ten years on, she knows she'll never have to.

_Love is…_

_**Age 5**_ - Telling him you like his scarf on the first day of Kindergarten and watching him wear it every day for the next twelve years.

x

_**Age 6**_ - Being the only person sitting at the arts and crafts table, trying to ignore everyone else as they rush by in a flutter of laughter and unified chatter, and then feeling another presence occupy the seat beside you and looking up to see him watching you with interest.

Trying to play up your annoyance that he has now cast a shadow over the stream of sunshine that was dancing across your creation, and asking him hotly why he's sitting there and not off chasing Serena as she plays Mermaid or subtly battling off the other Sharks who try to sabotage Nate's water hero as he attempts to rescue her (you're kinder with vocabulary to your younger self than you'd admit), only to have to suppress the urge to leap across the table and capture him in your arms when he replies simply: "Because you're over here"; and instead you settle for smiling at him gratefully and telling him he can help color the fairytale you're painting.

x

_**Age 7**_ - Him finding you crouched under a large oak in Strawberry Fields: your hair beginning to frizz at the ends from the heat, but your cheeks still damp from the torrent of tears that have flooded them for the better part of your time there.

Standing above you, asking you what's wrong; and you trying to tell him through choked sobs and muffling waterfalls that you didn't mean for it to happen, but it was too hard to skip with Serena and hold both Bear _and_ your butterfly balloon, and now they're _both_ cradled above you in a tangled mess of jagged edges and slippery slopes.

Him chuckling and you frowning and shooting him a glare, but then taking his hand anyway as he is offers it and allowing him to pull you up, because you're nothing if not polite and well-mannered, as he tells you; "You'd think it was the end of the world. Don't worry about it, I'll get your precious bear back for you."

"And my balloon," you can't help but say; and it's more of a statement that a question, because for some reason you're already taking his words in as truth, so you gather your sense a little enough to ask, "How?"

Him looking at you with that enigmatic glint in his eye, and that devilish smirk and saying, "Where there's a Bass, there's a way."

You rolling your eyes at him, because it sounds ridiculous quite frankly that _Chuck Bass_ of all people would be able to rescue your beloved from peril, and thinking maybe you should've just waited and told Nate; but your mother's already collected you and your mind's too jumbled with trying to think of something to tell your father about what happened to the butterfly balloon nevermind _Bear_, when he appears at the door and tells you that there's been an accident and Chuck's in the hospital.

You feeling a little woozy and like that day he poured a bucket of cold water over your head because he said the shock would do you good; and you manage to ask if he's ok.

Your father saying he was climbing a tree – you're more than fairly certain you scrunched up your face in disbelief at that one: Chuck Bass lounged against trees, he didn't _climb_ them – when he fell; he was near the top and it was quite a distance, but the doctor's think he'll ok.

It taking you the whole car journey to realize that one of the reason's your heart dropped was because the words _fell_, _accident_, and _near the top_ don't exactly spell accomplishment in your mind; and you hadn't even realized you'd put that much faith in the boy's ability to keep his word when suddenly you're by his bed side and he's smirking up at you and what seems like out of nowhere he's produced both Bear _and_ your butterfly balloon.

You should have known he'd do anything for you, so you give him a taste of the kiss you know he's been waiting for and sign his cast with: That'll teach you to try and impress pretty girls, _xox_ – two kisses, one hug.

x

_**Age 8**_ - Being forced to play tag by the teacher filling in for the usual one, during mixed-class, and feeling a hand lay itself on your shoulder while your back is turned.

Your feeling of disappointment in being caught off guard suddenly disappearing when you turn to see him, of all people, standing behind you and sending a fire through you with his touch.

Watching his face relax into that easy smile you never see him use with anyone else, and whisper quietly in your ear, _"You're it."_

_x_

_**Age 9**_ - Being quarantined for over week when you come down with chickenpox – can you say: _EW?_ – and having him as your sole visitor and contact with the outside world the entire time.

Returning to your room, after news that it is to be your confinement until you've recovered, to find him sitting on the edge of your bed, a slight smirk on his face as the words, "Looks like it's just the two of us," tumble out of his mouth, closely followed by, "And you look positively _to-die-for_, as always."

Thinking your heart might have actually skipped a beat at these words, though you roll your eyes, giving him a half-smile, and put on a show that you'd rather it'd been Nate or Serena that had skipped over the segregation rule and what would no-doubt-be your mother's wrath if you are discovered with company: after all, he doesn't need to know how completely _alive_ you feel whenever he's around.

Reveling in his _selfless_ – Ha! – albeit slightly grudging, offer of cheering you up with back-to-back Classics, and then finding yourself taking comfort in his presence by your side and slowly drifting to sleep, with the sound of you both pulsating through your ears.

Returning the favor, braced with what you _know_ are his favorite films (even if he doesn't proclaim them to be for obvious reasons), and preparing yourself for a mixture of bloodshed and fear against laughter and amusing escapades, when he's struck down himself: you've always known that line of his was bound to run its course after a while.

x

_**Age 10**_ – Taking nearly three weeks out of school and accompanying him and his parents on a trip to the UK for a month, while your own are away on their respective business trips.

Starting north, you go to a street festival, watching the parade of people pretending to be someone else, the costumes and music continuing to color your world even when everything else has faded and feeling his hand brush yours and the sound of his steady heartbeat by your side ringing above anything else.

Fingers appearing on your wrist, cool metal on skin, and the click of a clasp: the bracelet feels delicate beneath your touch, and turning your head you see a small smile flicker across his lips, before he leans in and says, "Beauty is as beauty does."

Attending a jazz festival with him and his mother while his father attends to business, and pretending you don't catch the smile on his mother's face when she sees you two dancing the night away, and trying to tell yourself you didn't have one to match.

Shopping as just you girls, while he and his father go to a whisky distillery, and reveling in the presence of a mother who gives you all the attention you've ever wanted from your own.

Then being the first thing his eyes seek out when he returns; only he stumbling over his words about all the different types of Scotch that he encountered, eyes wide as saucers, because you're standing before him in the dress you secretly wanted (but could hear your mother's voice saying it wouldn't suit your shape) and then found lying on your bed later that day after the shopping trip; the only thing left behind the faint, lingering trace of his mother's perfume and the smile you could see out of the corner of your eye: at least one mother was proud of you.

Dressing up for the Royal Ascot – complete with hat, didn't you know – which he provides; appearing in your bedroom of the townhouse you're staying in, a tier of large circular hatboxes held out in front of him awaiting your approval, after yet another shopping session with his mother, which you could certainly grow accustomed to.

Having him turn to you and ask what horse you like most, and then watching him go to his father and hear him express your preference as his choice for the bet the elder's placing; it wins on a 4-7 favorite, and he sends you a secret smile.

Sucking on strawberries and cream at Wimbledon and sitting next to him as you bask in the warm English sun; when you _know_ Serena is bored out of her mind watching her new stepfather move in and that Nate has been left under Captain duty while his mother is in Connecticut during the last week before the holidays start, is surprisingly the patent bow on top of what's already been wonderful end-of-term break.

You move on again, and take in another few festivals north of the border once more, because these ones span the month in the Capital: admiring the beauty of the landscape as you pick up a few necessary garments of tradition and such, and having him tell you if think that countryside is beautiful, wait until he takes you to Ireland.

And then traveling up to his parents' holiday-house, which lies right in 'the home of golf', you relax in the feeling of his arms around you as he teaches you the game of leisure.

x

_**Age 11**_ – Watching your best friend flitter across the stage, gorgeous dress and a halo of golden hair, and feeling oh so jealous - like you'd ever admit that was it – as you look around to see everyone's eyes following the blonde beauty, except his; no, his are captivated by something else entirely.

Your fixated gaze, as you tell him, "I could do that," and then turning your head ever-so-slightly to gauge his reaction; it's enough to see him partake in the briefest of nods and the wistful smile flicker across his features, before he's schooled his features into a smirk with dancing eyes and perfectly arched eyebrow.

Laughing off his silent half-hearted challenge with a simple response that circled round the fact that just because you _could_ do it, didn't mean you were going to; and hearing him say that the only people who paraded on a stage like that were the ones who weren't good enough to make the world their platform, and that certainly didn't associate with you, now did it?

Hearing the truth in his words, even if it does slide from the tongue like one of his sarcastic comments that he's forever sending your way; and then sending him a small smile, a devilish spark in your eye, when he adds, "As long as you parade on _my_ stage one day, Waldorf."

x

_**Age 12**_ - Being invited, along with your mother, to accompany him and his on their holiday to Ireland during spring break; just when you're beginning to believe he'd forgotten he'd ever mentioned it.

Showing you the scenery he'd promised the last time you were in such a position: he doesn't disappoint when takes you to the top of Blarney Castle and steps back, a half-smile on his lips as you try to comprehend that amount of beauty in one place; you're not the only one.

Somehow feeling… _reassured_ of your safety by the mere feeling of the grip of his hands on your ankles, your knuckles still white of course as you grasp the metal railings, while you lean back and kiss a piece of old, worn stone upside down; you'll supposedly be given the "gift of eloquence": how he ever got you to agree to it was beyond you, and you make a point to purposefully scrub your lips right in front of him, just so he knows you'll be blaming him if you catch the _plague_ or something like that; ignoring his laughter at the comment and resuming the task of trying to rid the disgust from your face.

Taking you to see the Book of Kells in Trinity College to see an illuminated manuscript of the gospels; letters and pages decorated with fascinating creatures, angels and religious characters and outlined in a kaleidoscope of colors; each page glows like magic and as you look from his smiling face to the manuscripts, you know you're entranced.

Visiting the Guinness Storehouse, matching his stride step-for-step throughout the whole seven-floor tour, and then watching his eyes light up at the words:_ free sample_, the smirk on his face merely rising further with the guide's words that the complimentary pints are age-appropriate; but as well you know, there are ways around that, because when has that ever stopped him before: he always did love a challenge.

x

_**Age 13**_ - Pretending you never pinpointed the exact moment he changed, and going along with the opinion that he'd been heading that way for long enough: make believing that you agreed he was simply acting out his teenage years the only way the children of Benjamin Franklin's benefactors knew how.

Never once uttering that you'd been with him when he was first told of his mother's diagnosis, or that you had recognized and witnessed first hand his metamorphosis from experimental to downward-spiral, his intentions masked even from himself.

And silently deciding to be there for him, always: to be the saving grace he'd never admit to needing and you'd never admit to being; and feigning disbelief that it's for both your sakes.

x

_**Age 13**_ - Being able to remember, in exact detail, the day he gave you your first headband: from the moment he appeared in front of you, hands behind his back and gift in hand, to when you opened the perfectly wrapped box and gasped at the beauty that lay within; to when you ask him why and he replied simply: "Think of it as an early first-day present for starting Constance. You can use this summer to break it in."

To when he stood behind you as you looked into the mirror adjusting the _red passion_ headband, complete with bow, atop your curls and you see something flicker past his face for the slightest of moments and a light smile play across his lips, before he smirked at you with a oddly _fond_ expression and said, "Welcome to the world of trademark accessories. Looks good on you, Waldorf."

To later that night when you are getting ready for bed and you place the headband back in its original box, only to find a card lying there with the words: _Because every Queen should have a tiara_.

x

_**Age 14**_ - Never being able to take your eyes off him on the day of his mother's funeral, and sitting quietly holding his hand when you find him curled up in her closet: hugging himself tightly, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks, and looking every bit the scared little boy he'd hidden for long enough; then never uttering a word to anyone.

x

_**Age 14**_ - Overlooking what you know to be the real reason he's only ever reachable at the parties during the last week before summer, pretending you don't recognize that he's only there to show face: keep up appearances and prevent people talking.

And providing excuse after excuse that run off the tongue with practiced ease, when he can't be found during daylight hours: going along with the party-boy trouble-inducing image that was created around him as he fell apart in a swirl of women and alcohol; while his mother was hidden away from the practiced sympathies and no-more-than-polite condolences of the men and women whose daughters her own son was barely even bothering to learn the names of before they were caught in a whirlwind of overflowing drinks and tangled sheets, and the shutters began drawing on Bart Bass as each pained breath passed his wife's lips.

x

_**Age 15**_ - Being overcome by confusion and anger and blame, and retreating into your old ways to rid every little feeling coursing through you that has anything to do with you, or feeling, or that blonde who's name you can't even sound out; and being found like that, by him; broken, on the bathroom floor.

Strong arms wordlessly wrapping around you, holding you close to him; and when you cry against the strong beat of his heart and utter the words that threaten to choke you: "She left me; she left me and didn't even say goodbye," he simply pulls you further towards him and kisses your forehead, holding you tighter.

Almost, so you can barely hear it, whispering, "I'm sorry."

x

_**Age 15**_ - Wanting desperately to talk to your best friend or boyfriend after your father walks out the door to go and be with his gay lover, once and for all, and then hearing his voice on the other end of the phone; and somehow knowing that whatever happens it'll all be alright.

When he arrives less than ten minutes later, and immediately draws you into his embrace you know there was a reason you chose him.

x

_**Age 16**_ - Barely noticing as he creeps his way up the hierarchy of your speed-dial, until he can't reach any higher because he's already your number one.

And not bothering to change it even when Nate notices and kicks up a fuss, because for some reason you think it's fitting; that the boy you've always secretly been there for is there for _you_, a simple phone call away; an indulgence that you partake in far more than you'd ever let on.

x

_**Age 16**_ - Losing your virginity to him and spending every ounce of energy you have convincing yourself you did it for any other reason that that you wanted to; and slowly crumbling when it eventually begins to turn into the regret you never actually wanted it to be.

x

_**Age 17**_ - Him standing up in front of Lord only knows how many people (76 not including himself – her company at the table was a little too _bland_ for her liking) and admitting that he was a victim of love himself, and was just wishing for a second chance; all the while looking directly at you as he says the words, before grabbing you for a dance when you finally approach him, and showing you off to the world as _his_.

x

_**Age 17**_ - Him flying to Tuscany, turning up on your doorstep and admitting that he couldn't do it; couldn't make what could potentially be the biggest mistake of his life, all because he was scared of the reality of what you meant together.

x

_**Age 17**_ - Risking fashion over-kill by wearing his Erickson Beamon necklace any chance you get, fingering it subconsciously in a comforting habit of old except the choice of jewelry has evolved; the only reminder of where a certain ruby red promise ring used to sit, faint tan lines that have all but disappeared under the New York sun.

x

_**Age 17**_ – A telescope on the top balcony of his house in the Hamptons, last night of your holiday.

Two twinkling stars glinting back at you from their place in the darkness, and his soft breath, hot on your neck, as he whispers in your ear: "Thought our story was one worthy of being written in the stars."

Turning, and immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him like there's no tomorrow: because you simply have no words.

Drawing back, telling him you have a surprise for him too, and slowly you draw up the bottom of your dress, bunching it up just above your hips; ignoring the curious look in his eyes until they fall on what lies there.

His laughter when he comprehends exactly what you've done, managing to splutter out: "A butterfly? You got a butterfly tattoo?" as he staggers backwards while you wrench the material back down to skim your thighs, glaring at his amused presence before you.

Telling him to be careful he doesn't fall, because wouldn't that just be _tragic_: and it is, it really and truly is; when you hear a slight scuffing of leather on stone, the muffled grunt of surprise, and watch him tumble over the edge of the balcony to land on the ground below.

Complete and utter dread, like death itself, overcoming you in barely an instant: nearly throwing yourself over the stone railing yourself in your hurried dash to even so much as catch a glimpse of his face, see him take a breath.

Choking on a sob when you witness his prone form from up there, and emitting the most chilling, blood-curling scream when you're by his side moments later: as you watch him cough and splutter, seeing nothing but red; red that colors his lips and dribbles down his chin, red that soaks the back of his head and stains your hands, red that paints the ground beneath you and seeps into the pool creating a drowning sunset that's glistening in the moonlight.

How inconsolable you are the whole time: as they load him onto the stretcher, put him in the ambulance, ride him to the hospital, rush him into the ER, switch him to the OR, transfer him to the ICU; how silent you are for the whole time he's out – 17 hours and 19 minutes.

Waking up to the words: "You couldn't have at least worn the nurse's outfit this time?" and looking up to see his dancing eyes and that damn smirk of his; and not having a doubt in your mind that it's surely one of the best moments of your life.

x

_**Age 27**_- A Butterfly House in the heart of the Emerald Isle, and him on bended knee, (a fact you just _know_ he only included because you'd have forced him to his knees if he hadn't already been on them), half-smirking lips, and bright expectant eyes; the easiest question you've ever been asked to answer lying before you: "Marry me, Waldorf?"

Watching his face light up when you finally give him the answer he's been waiting for, pull him towards you, and capture him in an embrace that feels like the safest place you've ever been; and knowing you'll never want anything else but this; him.

_  
Love is_ all this, everything she feels, and more.

It's Chuck Bass, and long may it continue.

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Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.  
Steph  
xxx

P.S. I'm considering doing a continuation of this and _'Pretending Was…'  
_It would extend on each part of this, with each age/memory having it's own chapter, but it depends if it takes off with my muse. Please feel free to check it out if I do and let me know what you think of that too.  
- - There is actually now an extension to this. It's called: _Through Mist & Elegance. _So feel free to read if you so desire ;)

P.P.S. apologies for constantly updating this, but I caught another few errors that were bugging me so I wanted to correct them - hopefully that's them all now :)


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